


Duality in Berlin

by Benquel



Category: Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Berlin Wall, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-27 07:26:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benquel/pseuds/Benquel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man in a window behind a towering wall compels Ludwig to face decisions and choices he never thought he could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is in 1985, look i know all the windows had been sealed by the end of 1961 but lets just pretend some of them arent for at least now
> 
> everyones a bit of a gossiper sorry 
> 
> also explicit for later chapters /winks at you horny hound dogs/

* * *

 Chapter one

 

 

Ludwig’s leather dress shoes clicked against the cobblestone road that lead down the grey-washed street, feet heavy and legs sore after six hours of brooding over charts of mechanical designs in a seat too small to properly seat him. One hand curled into a fist around the handle of his briefcase while the other itched for a cold beer.

The barricade wall that stretched out far beyond the street’s cobble flooring loomed next to him, encasing Ludwig into a shadow that was cold enough to have him instinctively dig his chin into his coats collar.

He normally kept away from this street. The only sound would be from his shoes striking the stone, but a cacophony of sirens would rip through his skull as every thought blazed. No matter how uncomfortable this street made him, he couldn’t deny the fact that this road led to his apartment faster than the routes he navigated from work.

And today had been distinctly tiring; home was best, Ludwig decided.

As he kept his eyes forward, avoiding any possible contact with passersby, he neared the buildings that clustered behind the barricade. Little apartments that were too close together with windows tightly shut, save for a few, but Ludwig couldn’t make out any hint of movement or even light from them.

“Hey!”

Ludwig’s shoulders hitched under his coat, he swung around, his fist tightened around the handle of his briefcase.

“No, up here,” called the voice.

Turning his head to the apartments, he could see a head bobbed out from one of the windows; a hand stretched out and waved.

“Hi,” grinned a man with hair too light and teeth that devoured his mouth.

Were people even allowed to look at someone from the Russian district, let alone talk to? Ludwig wasn’t sure. With hesitation, mouth suddenly gone dry and fingers now clawing at his thigh, needing the neck of a beer bottle, he replied:

“Hi.”

Suddenly, as if pleased with the response, the man in the window leaned out, arms looped and ribs almost looked as if they were painfully digging into the window sill, but if they were he didn’t seem to notice.

“Any clue on the time?”

Brow arched, Ludwig’s eyes shifted to his wrist. He pulled his sleeve away to reveal his watch.

“It’s half past five.”

The man turned away for a moment to think, and Ludwig took that as his cue to quickly walk away, but before he could so much as lift his foot the man turned back to him, face split in a smile.

“Say, what’s your name?”

Ludwig paused, eyes narrowed.

“Your German sounds strange. How can I be certain I’m not talking to a Russian?”

The man looked caught off guard for a second, before giving an annoyed huff of breath and answering,

“One, my German does not sound strange; it’s due to the foreign influence. It’s your accent that sounds fucking ridiculous. Two, you’re an idiot. Besides, not all Russians are as terrible as Europe tries to say. There’s a Russian just a floor below me, harmless, bit of a burnout though—” he paused, before looking a bit crest fallen, “not that I can blame him.”  

Ludwig felt a little guilty twinge pluck at his throat; he slipped his free hand into his pocket and called out to the man.

“Sorry. I’m Ludwig.”

“Gilbert. How is it I’ve never seen you before?”

“Not much of a distinctive face, I suppose.”

 

Gilbert let out a chirp of laughter,

“maybe.”

  

* * *

 

Ludwig pulled out his set of keys, the heavy metal clinking against each other on a ring. His fingers fumbled, the cold hardening his hands, and minutes past before he’d managed to push the key into the lock.

He slipped in and pulled off his coat and shoes, leaving them at the door.

“Aster, Berlitz! Schwarz! Come!” Ludwig called out, a series of yelps followed and the muted thuds of skulls pressed to his legs.

 

 

After going through the routine of feeding them, Ludwig was left alone in the hallway to his thoughts with a beer clutched in his fingers. _Thank God_.

The man in the window’s laugh looped in his thoughts, causing Ludwig to sink against the wall at the weight of it in his mind.

 

* * *

 

The cold air left a biting chill against Gilbert’s skin; the street had cleared out by six and it left him alone, hunched over a round table sitting on a folded chair with his feet crossed around the plastic legs, fingers clutched to a cigarette and a paper cup of watered coffee.

His boat shoes were slipping off the heel, and his jumper with the elbow patches clung tightly to his torso.

“How are you, Gilbert?”

Gilbert turned, relaxing instantly at the sight of Ivan pulling out a seat in front of him and slumping into it with little grace.

The coffee shop with the terrible seats and awful coffee was only across the street, opposite the stair entrance to the flat.

“Fine, I talked to a man on the other side of the barricade.”

Ivan was aware enough to look shocked, before a stupor blurred the edges of his features again.

“Was he friendly?”

Gilbert shrugged, “I wasn’t given enough time to decide that, but I wouldn’t mind talking to him again. Too bad, I guess, but Elizabeta came over asking if I could look after the brats for an hour.”

At the mention of Héderváry’s children, Ivan shifted forward, cheeks full as he grinned.

“How are they? Did Larz ask of me? And Thomas? Does Ruth still have the doll I bought her?”

Sitting back, Gilbert gave a nod.

“Yes, yes, and yes.”

Relieved, Ivan relaxed back into his seat, “I wished you’d ask for me to come with you. Anyway, did you hear of the news, is devastating...” Ivan paused for a second, shaking his head before correcting himself, “it was devastating, sorry.”

Ivan’s German wasn’t something he boasted, he knew enough to hold a conversation, with only a few phrases of English and French.

Gilbert held out the cup to Ivan, who took it and sipped at the bitter liquid warmth with gratitude.

“No, I hadn’t.”

The Russian pulled away from the cup, his pale lips split into an ‘o’ shape.

“Oh no! The Aschen family, you know, the one that lived in the block down the road,” Ivan tipped his chin to the road that led down the curve of the street behind Gilbert, “caught escaping the wall. A shooting was issued— killing even the children.” Ivan’s face deflated, and he placed the cup onto the table. “I was so sad.”

“How haven’t I heard this?” Gilbert asked, his expression blown.

“It happened only last night, Fräulein Kost came and told me, I believe you were asleep. Sorry. I wanted to cry, especially at the thought of the outcome of the children.” Ivan frowned.

Mirroring Ivan’s frown, Gilbert slipped the filter of the cigarette between his lips and took a drag. Blowing out the smoke, he leant forward to pass it to Ivan, who plucked it out of his fingers with a shaky smile and drew it between his lips.

“I’m sorry."

 

Shaking his head, his mop of thick, wheat coloured hair tossing from side to side, “Me too, the men of the walls can be so cruel.”

 

* * *

 

Combed back hair was threatening to land in small tufts over Ludwig’s forehead as he marched in long strides down the pavement; the morning air was damp after a night of showers with puddles reflecting his worn state back at him, insistently reminding him of the dark circles under his eyes and the hard lines set on his forehead.

He scratched at his cheek, which was beginning to darken with stubble, and narrowed his eyes at the approaching buildings that seemed all too familiar to him now. His eyes darted up to Gilbert’s window, which was missing his thin figure. Instead it was shut, shielding the inside of the apartment from the gusts of wind that blew stray droplets of rain its direction.

Ludwig didn’t honestly expect Gilbert to be waiting for him, it was seven in the morning and far too cold to be anywhere near open air, in fact, he was probably still in bed, cocooned in what blankets he had. But he had at least been hopeful, which surprised him far more than it should have.

With less kick to his strides, Ludwig walked by the apartments, and slipped into the shadow of the barricade.

 _Berlin Administration of Constructional Design Bureau_ was written on a gold plaque just above a white building, the upper piece of the building was held by a row of columns that fanned out to the corners.

Ludwig reached the steps of the building and entered it with his fingers sliding into his damp hair and coat looped over his arm, which he set onto the rack that greeted him at the door. 

“Herr Beilschmidt, you’re late!” Barked a little Englishman in his office, head jutting from the crack of the door to glare hotly at him.

“I’m not late, sir.” Ludwig retorted, slipping into English.

The man almost visibly relaxed, but continued stormily, his voice like little strikes of lightning, “oh yes you are, I should know,” his nose crinkled as he sneered, and green pupils swallowing his eyes as he squinted indignantly.  “Don’t play this with me, Beilschmidt!”

Ludwig’s feet heavily clapped against the wood flooring, taking thunderous steps toward the sharp tongued man, and Kirkland as quickly as he impelled himself into Ludwig’s morning, slipped back into the den of his office. “I’m not having this behaviour again!”

“Forgive Arthur, Ludwig, he’s stubbed his shin on the new coffee table in the lunch room and has been in a terrible mood all morning.” Francis, who looked even more tired than Ludwig, with eyes red and his beard beginning to curl, was sat in the office sofa with sheets of documents in one hand and a dark coffee in the other.

“He insulted my haircut!” cried Antonio, who had strewn himself over his desk in the corner, looking forlorn with his fingers tangled into his short curls.

Ludwig gave a nod before turning to his cubicle, his computer sat on his desk, all blocks and big buttons, which hardly worked anyway, in all honesty he could get more work done without it, but Kirkland insisted they use them, as this was the latest the 80’s had to offer. 

 

He sat down, his chair digging into the back of his thighs, and stared into empty space before Kirkland would come howling at his lack of motivation.

 

* * *

 

With calloused fingers, blunt at the finger tips, Ludwig stretched down to switch the computer off.

His expression was heated as he gnashed his teeth at the yelps of irritation clawing its way through the opening of his cubicle.

Kirkland had alarmed even the most tranquil of employees. Antonio was in a coma of self-depression on his desk, or he’d just indulged himself into an afternoon nap, no one was sure. _Mathias_  Køhler had encroached his office to ask if killing a man and claiming it to be self defence would lift the charges enough to keep him from jail again—which Ludwig replied with an illicit frown.

By the time the department had settled into a silent system, the clock above the bust of a deer had twitched its arms to quarter past four.

“Francis Bonnefoy don’t you dare!” shrieked Arthur.

“Oh for God’s sake you prissy fool, I haven’t raised a finger!”

“Don’t touch me!”

“I haven’t!”

Sober expressions turned, a mournful glint in their eyes, as what had only just been an hour of hushed work performance was shattered under the volume of Arthur Kirkland’s bellows.

The little man was heaving, face a blotchy purple while short tufts of hair rose with his temper.

Finally put up with the unwanted attention, his embarrassment getting the better of him, Francis grabbed at Arthur’s elbow and forcefully pulled him close, the bridge of his nose crinkled and his breathing laboured through his nostrils as he chided the man in venomous French.

Arthur shook out the rest of his rage before collapsing into himself, his back curling like a bending bow. He replied back in French before walking away, shifting into the crack of his office door.

Ludwig and the rest of the office took this as their evening prompt that it was time to pack up and head home. A flutter of files shifting and briefcases being clipped open was heard before Ludwig swooped out of the department and clapped his feet down the series of marble stairs outside. The cold air burnt his lungs like strong whiskey and it took all of what was left of him to keep himself from just lying on the floor to die.

His feet reached the cobblestone, and a quick look at his watch told him it was now five ten.

“Herr Beilschmidt! Wait for me! I’ve—” there was a struggle of breath, “—come to join you. I travel to my home by this route!”

Ludwig inwardly groaned, he was almost looking forward to walking the cobblestone road alone. Turning to the flailing figure coming his way, the tired man nodded in acknowledgement.

“Hello, Herr Vargas.”

The Italian man bounded himself to his side, tie uneven and hazel locks an array of curls.

“Arthur was _so_ furious; his face was like some sort of blushing fruit that spoilt over night.” Feliciano burst out laughing and clapped at Ludwig’s solid bicep, enjoying the bliss of his humour.

“Right.”

“I hear there was more to it than what we’ve been told this morning, apparently,” he leaned in close, hand cupped next to his face and lips pursed, “I’ve heard he’s upset because he’d seen a shooting when he was returning home late last night, and Francis has been meaning to calm him down all day.”

Ludwig’s pace slowed down a moment and Feliciano had to back track a step to keep aligned with him. There was an acrid taste that kept Ludwig from asking who it was and where, instead he was caught in quiet shock before asking with a croak,

“Really?”

Head bobbing and curls bouncing, Feliciano leaned in again.

“Yeah! And from what I’ve heard from Feliks and Tino it wasn’t very far from here. Men spent their whole evening cleaning up in the rain! Now that I think about it I can’t help but pity Arthur, he didn’t need to see that at such a time especially with the rain that has been insisting to continue.”

Ludwig let out a weighted ‘oh’ before a veil of only the sounds of their shoes against the floor settled. By the time the flats behind the wall where in view Feliciano had bid his goodbyes, cutting down a pathway that lead to series of beige apartments.

 

* * *

 

Gilbert was sat lounged against the ratty fabric of his futon, head resting on the padded armrest.

He bought a vial of dark nail polish, which cost him a whopping ten Deutsch Marks, and was debating whether or not he should put it to use, he’d only bought it on impulse as the woman selling it had commented rudely on his trousers. There was honestly nothing for him now; haggling for deals was his only found purpose.

Besides the offensive liquid that sat on his cupboard, which he looked at with a purse in his lip, with its little figure and shimmer that taunted him, he’d bought bread, cheese, sausages and a week’s worth of water.

He was planning to invite Ivan up to eat, as Gilbert doubt he’d remembered to go out to buy food or anything for a fortnight, but a clacking of someone walking by pulled him away from his cloudy lethargy on the sofa.

Gilbert dragged himself to the window, the dimming evening was welcome and only mere glimmers of light were peppered along the road. The barricade was sat just below his window, maybe a foot or two away.  

A grin split his pale face when the familiar outline of a towering man, stiff and stout, walked in even steps down the centre of the road.

Leaning forward, putting his weight on the heels of his hands, Gilbert called out, his excitement getting the better of him, “Ludwig!”

Ludwig almost looked as if he’d forgotten how his feet worked and skidded to a stop that must have done a number on his shoes. His head shot up and piercing eyes met Gilbert’s.

“Good evening.”

Gilbert chirruped a laugh, teeth gleaming and brown eyes were maroon under the hood of shadow that casted from the windows awning. “You look awful.”

Shrugging, he walked directly in front of the window, “It’s a look that grows on people, I’ve heard.”

A snort, “you’ve heard right, I couldn’t imagine seeing you any other way.”

“We met yesterday, how are you so confident this isn’t only just a minor look I use to keep the women of Berlin clawing at my doors?”

Gilbert gasped out a laugh before replying, “I’ve heard muscle with attitude is what really keeps Berlin on its toes.”

“I could say the same for men in women’s clothes.”

The laughing was cut short by a series of chokes and a gurgled ‘oi’. In turn, Ludwig snorted and barked out a chuckle, “joking.”

Gilbert parroted the sound with a smile.

"You're ridiculous.” 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're getting there, guys, believe me
> 
> and god damn i just want to wrap this up already
> 
> fucking exams i swear to god

Chapter 2

 

 

The blinds were casted, filtering the room with an ominous dark filter. Freckles of dust particles burst in a fit of light through the spears of morning sunlight that spilt through the sieve in the openings of the compacted living room.

Gilbert was quick on his feet as he navigated through the obstacles of discarded clothing and beer cans to the shifting lump on the mattress.

“Ivan get up.”

There was a groan but no movement followed.

The mattress sank as the pale man sat into it; Ivan’s feet wormed their way from the thin sheets to press against Gilbert’s thigh, the heat rousing the man from his state under the covers.

“Have you brought me beer?” he asked, a lopsided smile crooking his lips.

Gilbert squinted his eyes and nudged his fist playfully against Ivan’s shoulder, “no, but I’ve got sausages and bread.”

That was enough to stir the large man, he sat up, hair tossed and curled at the fringe.

There was an interval as Ivan collected himself. He scratched his chin and cast his dreary gaze towards Gilbert, who sat poised with his hands resting on his thighs, which caught Ivan’s attention immediately.

“What have you done to your nails?”  Ivan’s eyes narrowed to Gilbert’s curled hands, fingernails sporting a black coat. Coffee eyes rolled down before springing back to Ivan’s blue.

“I can explain.”

Ivan snorted, heaving a fit of giggles that sounded too strange for his deep throated voice.

“You’re a grown man, Ivan, not five.” Pastel brows furrowed as the German scowled.

With a heave, Ivan swung away from the mattress, feet hitting cold wood with a slap. “Gilbert I’m starving and drunk, what I need is meat not your...”

“...Wit?” Gilbert put in.

“Wit.”

They settled into the twin chairs placed around the little table, a brown bag spilling half a loaf and a container of red sausages.  

“I’ve had more exciting meals when I was on the street.” Ivan said, already reaching out for the container.

“Shut up.” There was a pause before Gilbert pulled his attention away from the slice of bread he was picking at, “I talked to Ludwig again.”

Mouth full, cheeks like planets, the Russian gave an honest look of confusion.

“The man behind the wall.”

Ivan swallowed, “Oh! Still?”

Gilbert’s eyes swivelled down to pluck at the skin between his fingernails, lips twisting to form words; he didn’t actually understand why he continued to talk to Ludwig, or even why Ludwig responded at all. They had in short fallen into a regular chain; the man’s heavy footsteps would wean him to the window and they would spend half an hour drifting in conversation, neither one of them attempting to break the stupor. But Ludwig’s work always seemed to win the struggle, igniting the familiar tartness of disappointment in Gilbert.

“...Yeah,” was his quiet reply.

Ivan seemed to stop eating then, an inquisitive expression settling on his features.

The room grew unbearably quiet for a long time, Ivan not saying a word, instead he kept himself perched on the end of his seat looking directly at Gilbert, who squirmed, eyes darting before giving up and drawing back to Ivan’s. The Russian took this as his chance to ask, with all the prying motivation of a child:

“Do you like him?”

Gilbert was too shocked to splutter; he sat taut and began to register the question through his brain, considering it for a while. Ludwig wasn’t the most attractive man he’d met, nor was he the sweetest, but there was a layer that kept Gilbert more attentive than he had ever been.

“I don’t actually know.”

That was enough to have Ivan burst in a grin, indulging himself with another barb of curious queries.

“So you are...a...” Ivan paused, looking as if he was struggling; he began snapping his fingers as if that would help him. He said it in Russian in hopes Gilbert would understand. It wasn’t difficult to see what he was getting at.

“A homosexual? I don’t know.” Gilbert said, and that seemed to satisfy Ivan enough to have him draw another sausage into his mouth.

With the container finished and bread almost gone, Ivan raised another issue.

“I want to meet him.”

Gilbert couldn’t help but laugh, “maybe.”

 

* * *

 

When the morning peaked by twelve, Ludwig was invited to Saturday lunch with his colleagues; the day was vivid under the sun in the open pavement avenue. A new cafe, _Die Alle Haus_ , had opened a block away from the department building, charming the office into spending an afternoon in the weave chairs exposed to the street.

He had been reluctant to join, but eventually decided that he could do with some leisure on a weekend, even if it did mean spending it with the staff from work.

The group sat around joined glass tables, picking at the waiter for their orders as he relieved the table of its booking stand.

The coffee was outrageously expensive and the food was too lavished for Ludwig’s tastes, but the group had behaved decently, even Arthur, who sat quietly with a bowl of spiced soup set in front of him.

Ludwig shifted in his seat with the menu in hand and turned to Mathias, who was hunched over a wedge of garlic bread, and snorted. “The coffee here costs more than my flat.”

Mathias grinned. “Doesn’t that apply to everything nowadays? We’re lucky though, having the fortune to spend and all— but I wish I could say the same for everyone.” His suddenly sad gaze shifted to the hint of concrete, a long strip of it peaking behind the street flats and shops.

Ludwig’s robust figure sagged a bit, as if reminded of how tired he was, and he nodded solemnly. With less authority to his words, he asked, “How’s Bewarld?” He had a tugging feeling the man in question was what was kindling to Mathias’ declining attitude.

“Worse.”

Before Ludwig could ask, Mathias continued. “There’s an acute swelling in his abdomen, doctors are saying it’s appendicitis but everyone’s in the dark at this moment. “

“What do _you_ think?”

He laughed, the humour in his tone reviving itself.”I think it doesn’t matter what I think. God, this whole thing is ridiculous and complicated.”

Ludwig gave a heavy but assuring pat to his shoulder.                       

It had been four years after Mathias and Berwald’s escape from the wall. They’d grown fraught from their separation of family by 1980, and planned to travel by tunnels in Brisberg. As they were there, communist officers had sought after the group whom manned the tunnels after being noted by Pro-Russian officeholders in Diemart. Berwald was assaulted by bludgeons to the back of the skull, but it had only effected him by the time they’d reached West Berlin. The population of Brisberg was shot with the tunnel closed off days after, which upset Mathias to a point of thick silence encasing him for a period of time. Berwald since then had been confined to a hospital bed, slipping in comas and coming back later in worse of a state than before.

“He’s still here; give him time to come back around.” Ludwig squeezed his hand on the other’s shoulder before drawing back, his voice low for only Mathias to hear.

“I just want that fucking wall to come down, y’know.”

“I know.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, ya div!”

Gilbert was folded like a pale cat over the window sill, cigarette in his fingers, the smoke curling and looming overhead of Ludwig.

“Hello, Gilbert.” He paused. “You smoke?”

Gilbert gave a smile.

“You don’t?”

He sniffed. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

They immersed into stillness, as if easing themselves into molasses that stopped time. Both faces were fixed onto each other, daring the other to be the next to speak. A grin was breaking fast on Gilbert’s lips, his cheeks inflating into bright round orbs as his lips split to reveal teeth. The corners of Ludwig’s lips hitched at that, fidgeting themselves into a spiralling smile.

“Where is he!”

A bellow was heard from the entrance of the apartment and barks were fast ascending the staircase, heels sent a series of strikes against the wood.  The silence was shattered and Gilbert quivered in dismay at the voice.

“Please, it’s too early to have anyone riled up!”

“It’s midday you buffoon, show him to me!”

“But—”

There was a snarl. “Never mind, I can smell that rat smoking.”

“Roderich—”

Harsh bangs were sent to Gilbert’s door, each hard smack sending him propelling up in vigilant jumps of attention.

He turned back to Ludwig, smile now creased into a worried frown. 

“Is everything okay?”

The aggressive demands at the door were growing garish. Gilbert gave a glance to the quaking wood before rubbing warily at his asymmetrical fringe, he nodded to Ludwig and leaned out, he spoke softly but with enough volume for the other to hear.

“Give me five minutes, yeah?”

Ludwig’s frown deepened and he took an insistent step forward.

Gilbert quickly added reassuringly, “friend, friend! I know him, s’just a bit upset. Five minutes, please!”

Before Ludwig could open his mouth to retort, Gilbert was bolting to the door latch that guarded him from the onslaught of heaving violence behind it.

When the latch was pulled and the door was released, Roderich’s ferocity simmered into a tight-lipped frown, his raised hair easing back to rest flat on his head.

“ _You_.” He said venomously. Ivan was about to speak before the dark haired man twisted himself to give a warning look; with Ivan quiet and shuddering under the furious volume of his eyes, Roderich turned back to fix his sharp stare to Gilbert.

“Me?” Gilbert started with a cautious smile.

“Shut up.” Roderich said callously, all humour slipping off him like water on greased paper. “I’ve been trying to contact you for two days. I’ve missed my appointment with the record department because of _you._ ” There was visible effort of restraint as he continued, “I had to _beg_ for a reschedule, _Gilbert_ , must I repeat myself?”

Gilbert kept silent.

“You were supposed to look after the children while Elizabeta was visiting relatives. You had _one_ job.” The malice in his voice was unbearable, even for Ivan who was standing there with a twisted frown on his face. “One job! And surprise! You have failed spectacularly!” The veins in Roderich’s jaw were pulsing blue under the stress of his sheathing anger.

“...I was busy.” Gilbert began to explain, he hadn’t received any note on caring for the kids, that or he’d been too invested in speaking to Ludwig with every chance he got to notice.

“You were drunk more like. Might as well tell the truth, and if you’re going to lie at least make it interesting.” Roderich derided.

“I believe it was my fault.” Said Ivan— his expression sober and regretful. “I think Fraulein Héderváry had beseeched me a few days ago telling me this, but I might not have remembered. I am sorry.”

Roderich reached to rub at the sharp bridge of his nose, his stiff shoulders eased into slopes at the weight of his exhaustion. “I haven’t got the time for this. I’m leaving.”

With that the man had pushed his way past the large build of Ivan with ease and was making his way down the steps in record time.

Both men let out a long held breath, relaxing back into their skin.

“I’m sorry we bothered you, were you asleep?” Ivan started.

“No, I was—” Gilbert stopped, “Oh!”

He quickly retreated back into his flat, leaving Ivan confused in the landing.  Gilbert reached the window facing the west streets in long strides, heart striking his ribcage in nervous beats, barely keeping up with the thoughts that whizzed. To his relief, Ludwig stood there patiently as he had been before he left, who then turned in time to observe the other’s return.

“You waited.” Gilbert smiled.

Ludwig flashed him a quirk of his lips. He seemed as if he was going to speak when Gilbert felt heat suddenly press to his right shoulder, before he could so much as catch a glimpse of the intruding presence, a thrilled call gushed beside him.

“Hello!”

Gilbert turned, his face horrified to find Ivan leaning on the window by his side. He hissed to the man, who was eyeing Ludwig with an amiable grin on his face.

“Ivan what the fuck?”

Ivan turned to him. “I wanted to see.”

“Well you see.”

“Yes.”

Gilbert pursed his lips at the failure to catch the hint. He glanced down at Ludwig who stood with an eyebrow arched inquisitively.

“Sorry,” Gilbert called, “I might have mentioned you to the Russian downstairs.”

“Do you speak Russian?” Inquired Ivan, his voice pitched with giddy.

“...No.” Ludwig said puzzled.

That didn’t seem to derail Ivan in the slightest, as he leaned out further in interest.

“Do you have pets?”

“I have dogs.”

“Do you know English?”

“I do.”

“Do—”

“ _Ivan_.” Gilbert bristled; he gestured to Ludwig and gave a heavy look with his eyes.

Ivan paused, glanced back at the man on the street, and gave a meaningful smile with a cheeky squint of his droopy eyes.

“Oh right!” He turned to Ludwig and waved before departing from Gilbert’s flat to his a floor below.

Gilbert gasped a heavy sigh.

“Sorry.”

To Gilbert’s surprise Ludwig barked a laugh.

“It’s fine.”

They talked for what seemed like too long. The subject drifting and twisting before little meaning was brought from it as neither wanted anything but to only have the other speak. By the time the sun was drowsily slipping behind the edge of the sky they decided to call it a day. But Ludwig paused just as he was about to leave, his expression tense and struggled, his lips sealing what he wanted to say into his mouth and Ludwig was blue by the time he spoke.

“...Stay safe.”

A vine of heat entwined and sprouted in his lungs; Gilbert’s voice failed him and instead he merely gave smile and nodded.

“Yeah,” He whispered, cheeks warming at the sincerity of the tone.

Satisfied, Ludwig trudged on down the cobble road, leaving Gilbert alone to only watch from the window. And after twenty eight years of living under the shadow of the wall that split a country’s heart in two, Gilbert finally yearned for the barricade to tear down, because not only was Germany’s heart paralleled into divided pieces, but his was too.

 

* * *

 

Gilbert lay on his futon, the rough, almost denim texture comforting to his burning skin. A thin quilt covered his belly and the corners were spilling in heaps to the floor.

He began to wonder, his eyelids reclined over his eyes and his eyelashes fluttered as provocative thoughts were flooding his conscious and thin cotton trousers. A trembling hand travelled down, running his fingers through the hairs spilled from his waistband before palming himself through the frail fabric.

He made quick work of himself, slipping his cock out and pumped with mighty flicks of his wrists as he heaved, mouth gaping like a fish as even air seemed to be too much. All the while images of a heavy body slumped over his frame flickered in the blots of colour behind his eyelids, the body’s abdomen moving like waves as it drove its hips back-and-forth in a constant motion, stark tufts of blond hair plastering itself to a slick surface. Gilbert’s hand that was left twitching by his waist shifted to pull his trousers to his knees, now free to reach between his legs to drift and flutter over his perineum.

Gilbert paused before drawing the hand back, deciding to just finish himself off instead.

With a final, dragging motion of his fist, short spurts erupted from the head, pooling over the dark curls leading away from his pelvis. He groaned into his fist.

His legs gave way and split like parting rivers, his now flaccid cock raw against his thigh.

As he shut his eyes, Gilbert furrowed his brows in frustration and turned away from the street lamp lights that were glaring daggers through his eyelids, pulling the thin covers over his wiry legs.

Gilbert puffed into the pillows, the need to talk to Ludwig thickening under his skin after visioning the man as he jerked off. If only they could just meet, both on level ground.

He slipped into sleep as exhaustion gripped him; his last thoughts were for things to only be easier.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ones a little shorter than the other chapters im sorry for that
> 
> there might be a mini hiatus due to the fact im going through my igcse's
> 
> anyway i finally wanted to get the fact that these two want each others dicks out of the way and pull up some sads

Chapter 3

 

 

With November’s cold blazing in his throat, Ludwig reeled his eyelids away from his hazy pupils, focusing intently on the cream ceiling that was now a grey under the clouded light that came from his drawn windows.

The dogs were sat curled outside his bedroom door, waiting for him to come out.

Ludwig slipped out of bed to his window, the glass sporting a pallid sheen of frost. The morning was a dirty white, rain puddles had gathered in unlevelled sections of the street and people had yet to walk the concrete today.

He dipped his feet into his slippers and stabbed his arms into the sleeves of his dressing gown, now ready to direct himself to the kitchen for a coffee.

The coffee container was ready for him by the time he’d escaped the dogs, who still had decided to follow him keenly.

 After going through the routine of drinking coffee and feeding the dogs, Ludwig was left to his thoughts at his kitchen table.

 _‘...Stay safe’_ was coiling like spurred oil over the cortex of his brain, making him feel the weight of his insides and the way they spun after every repeat of the scene. Gilbert’s smile; the way the ground felt too hot for his shoes while the sun took the last remnants of heat with it; Gilbert’s hands ringing the stool of the window; the way he could feel the hard lines on his face soften.

Ludwig didn’t know what to think of by this point. He knew what was happening; he knew what to make of it, he was only unsure of what do with it.

If he was gay, Ludwig decided, then this would have to be the most awful way of finding out.

 

* * *

 

“Gilbert!”

There was a moment where the only sound Ludwig could hear was the sound of his increased breaths through his nostrils.

He was about to call again but the shutters rustled and the double hung window’s frame rose, revealing a very tired pair of eyes and stirred pale hair.

“...Ludwig?” Gilbert asked, he tried to manage a smile but it only seemed dazed through his sleepy state.

“Hello—” Ludwig coughed into his gloved hand, looking beyond ill at ease, “—I—”

“It’s seven in the morning, Ludwig.” Gilbert said, his grin failing to stagger, “On a _Sunday_.”

Shifting his shoes into the floor, Ludwig could only nod at that. “I’d woken early and since then I really didn’t have anything worth doing at home...Did I wake you?”

The other laughed, he was shivering through it as the November morning rattled his body.

“Yes, but that’s fine. I needed to get out of the habit of waking up after noon anyway.”

A gust of wind hurled itself against the side of Ludwig’s body, blowing his hair onto his forehead and causing his coat to lap at the back of his knees. He was so cold, but even Berlin’s winter digging its claws into every exposed pore on Ludwig’s body couldn’t coax him into retreating from the street. He stood his ground, readying himself for another freezing slap of wind.

Gilbert frowned, his eyes saddening.

“I wish I could invite you in.”

Ludwig tilt his head down to only have concrete assault his eyes, the canvas of inert grey was endless. He raised his gaze back to Gilbert’s, a sad smile tweaking his lips.

 

* * *

 

“Ivan...?”

A gurgle erupted.

“Ivan, I think I love him.”

Another gurgle.

 

* * *

 

Ludwig trudged back home, unsure if he was empty handed or not.

It had been August the day Gilbert called to him from his window, two months had flown by and winter was hardening the hole in Ludwig’s heart.

He’d gone to Gilbert to escape his thoughts, which coincidently were only of the damned man. But seeing him drew away the weight on Ludwig’s shoulders, instead moving it to his lungs, making breathing a struggle.

Every day was growing all the more frustrating, all the more unbearable, and all the more sad.

Ludwig groaned, draping his arm over his eyes as he lay in the covers of his bed. He puzzled over solutions, filtering each one through the strainer of his brain before one single idea stood.

He lurched out of bed and tottered to the telephone, stabbing his fingers to the dials and crushing the receiver to his ear.

_“...Hello?”_

“Yes. Hello. Feliciano I need your help.”

_“Herr Beilschmidt? Is that you? What—What’s wrong, friend?”_

“Are you still familiar with that American that got your brother out of that tree?”

_“Do you mean Alfred? Yes I suppose! Why—”_

“Does he still work as a fireman?”

_“...Yes?”_

“Do you have any means of contacting him?”

_“I have his telephone number.”_

“Could you request a favour from me?”

_“Of course! If I might be so bold to ask, is everything okay?”_

“Yes. But please just keep this between us, Feliciano.”

_“Sure, friend!”_

“Thank you...”

By the time he and Feliciano had stopped talking, Ludwig hung up. He felt a gripping determination strangle him, not daring to let him slip away. What he needed now was Gilbert’s consent, but he’d wait until tomorrow, when he had an honest reason to trail the cobble road.

 

* * *

 

Ludwig’s legs tore down the road, stretching ahead and earning him less distance to Gilbert’s apartment.

He hadn’t meant to run, but his excitement got the better of him. His tie was slapping him in the face as the morning wind whirled, his combed back hair barely keeping in place and his dress-shoes were striking the stone like thunder in the quiet of the morning.

“Gilbert!” he panted, slowing to a jog before a complete halt.

The wait was longer than it had been yesterday, and Ludwig was afraid Gilbert was out cold today.

He gripped the handle of his briefcase, but to his relief the familiar movement behind the window followed after a minute.

“I hope this isn’t going to become a habit from you.” Gilbert yawned, but the corners of his mouth were pointing upwards. “Did you run to see me or has the wind really picked up since yesterday?” He laughed as he revelled in Ludwig’s dishevelled appearance.

“Sorry, but I’d been meaning to talk to you again.” Ludwig braced himself as he slowly began. “Look, I—”

He twisted his hands into thick fists at his sides, eyes desperately shifting over Gilbert’s frame.

Gilbert had visibly tensed, his eyes blown to the size of plates and Ludwig wasn’t certain because of their distance, but they almost seemed hopeful.

“I...” Ludwig paused. “I’ve thought over things and I’ve spoken to you for some time—”

“Please, please tell me you’re gay or I’m actually going to gouge my eyes out right here and now with my own fucking hands.”

Ludwig spluttered for a second, before collecting himself and admitting in earnest:

“I didn’t actually think I was before, but...”

“But who cares I wish I could kiss you.” Gilbert groaned, wilting into his fists that held up his cheeks.

Ludwig reached out to rub and pat his hair down onto his head, his lips twitched at the corners but he willed himself to settle.  

“I was under the impression that all the windows that were in close proximity to the wall were sealed off, but then I realised that little happens here, save for the shooting that had happened in August.” Ludwig didn’t need to explain as he noticed the grim look that flashed from Gilbert’s current expression, so he continued, “And so, I—Gilbert, are you willing enough to actually jump the wall?”

Pale eyebrows shot up to hide behind the tufts of hair that fell over Gilbert’s forehead, “I don’t understand.”

Ludwig drew in a breath, his shoulders stiffened, “I called a friend up who knows a man that works for the fire department. And he’s agreed to collect a few members and bring a safety net out to catch you if you jump from your window.”

Gilbert frowned and narrowed his eyes, “But then I won’t be able to come back.”

“You can stay at my apartment until the wall comes down.”

“ _If_ the wall ever does come down.”

Ludwig grew silent; he was fast becoming late for work but he didn’t dare to move. Gilbert took that as his cue to continue:

“And what about Ivan, my _friend_. How will I see him—what will he even do? Not only that but I look after the kids for a family friend, because real nannies are too expensive if you didn’t know. I have so much on my plate it’s unbelievable.” He drew a breath, “For God’s sake, Ludwig, what would _you_ do if you were me?”

“I—” His hopes were quickly being led to the edge of a cliff. “Please just consider it, Gilbert.”

The other deflated at that words, and nodded.

Ludwig gave one last longing look to him before nodding in return and walking down the road.

 

* * *

 

Gilbert propelled himself down the steps to Ivan’s flat, he reached the landing and barely had managed to hold himself up properly before he swung the door open and dived into the room.

“Ivan!” He wheezed, all his breath had left him.

The Russian was sat folded into one of the chairs surrounding the table, he looked shocked before melting in concern at Gilbert’s sudden entrance and he gestured to the seat beside him.

Gilbert didn’t need asking twice before he wobbled unsteadily into the chair.

“Gilbert?” Ivan started.

”Okay! Okay! He’s gay—I think, yeah, he is. Anyway, that’s not really it, he—” He gasped, “—He said he knew how to get me into the west side, Ivan. Fucking Christ, I have never _ever_ in my life thought I would be able to actually feel what their concrete was like under my shoes, or ever taste if their coffee was better than ours, which I’m sure it is. But that’s aside the point; I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to leave, but at the same time I want to actually _be_ with him rather than just see him from my God damn window!”

Ivan settled a hand reassuringly onto Gilbert’s shoulder, “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not!” He wailed, “This is terrible.”

“Listen to me, you want to be with him, and that’s okay.  I’ve known you for years and I could never have guessed that you were homosexual, I think, but now that I know what you sort of are then that just means I have more ground to be supportive on. But Gilbert, the barricade is going to come down, maybe not now, but it will. There is too much support on the cause for its removal that it will ever be able to stay up for long, trust me. So if you do leave, it doesn’t mean you’ll never see me again.”

He squeezed his hand resting on the shoulder.

“And Elizabeta will understand, Roderich may not but then again he doesn’t understand very much because of his temper.”  Ivan laughed, and to his relief, so did Gilbert. “And you’ll be free.”

“But what about you?”

Ivan smiled.

“I still have my sisters, Fraulein Elizabeta and her children. And I know you’ll come back when everything ends.”

Gilbert rubbed furiously at his eyes when tears began to cling to his eyelashes.

“You’re my best friend, Ivan.” He groaned through his wobbling lip.

“I know, Gilbert.” Ivan said softly, handing him the beer he had been drinking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> herrrreee we go

 

Chapter four

 

 

Gilbert had slept in Ivan’s bed for the night, who was sitting abstemiously in his chair, watching him turn and shift through the covers.

He recalls Gilbert’s moist expression as he sipped the beer Ivan handed to him with a sour frown on his face, he’d given up his disheartened reverie and settled to falling asleep in his arms that were folded on the table. Ivan picked him up unceremoniously and laid him in the little bed that sat under one of the windows, gathering the day’s sunlight.

The morning was a bleak white as the early Berlin snow gathered throughout the night. December lurked like a preying animal, stoking fear in the hearts of those that couldn’t suffice her gruesome winter.

A cigarette was perched between Ivan’s lips, coiling smoke rose to blanket the ceiling. He towed in the bitter stench of it before pushing what he’d breathed in through a gap in his lips, cigarette held with his teeth.

Stirring erupted from the bed, earning Ivan’s attention.

“Gilbert?”

There was a murmur said into the mattress.

“Good morning.” Ivan said quietly.

Gilbert’s head rose to reveal a pair of flickering eyes curtained by wisps of pastel locks. He glanced around before it dawned on him, and realization had never looked so sore.

“I’m sorry.” He rasped.

Ivan assumed he must of seemed as if he were brooding, and schooled his expression to something more relaxed, but it was easier said than done when he’d only caught mere moments of rest sagged in his plastic chair.

“It is okay.” Ivan smiled, it was more of a tired droop of the rest of his face rather than a quirk of his lips, “Have you thought about what you are going to do?”

Gilbert rose slightly to pat at the space by his side, and Ivan stood to slip into the covers with him.

“I’m not sure.” He admitted.

The warmth was cruel and beautiful against Ivan’s skin; sleep was stealthily becoming more and more welcome with each passing moment pressed flushed against the heat of the mattress and Gilbert’s side.

“You should go to him, it’s an opportunity not worth losing.” Ivan yawned.

“But I’d lose you and the others.”

“We’ll always be here. You’re like my brother, Gilbert, you know that, and I know what will make you happy, even when you don’t just yet. So please don’t be sad.”

Gilbert nodded and inched forward to rest his forehead against Ivan’s, weariness and sleep becoming appealing to both of them.

They spent the rest of the morning dozing under the pristine light that reflected off the snow outside to shine through the window. 

 

* * *

 

 

The labyrinth of streets promised darkness and colder passageways that led further to nowhere, and Ludwig was fast becoming aggravated at how long this chosen route took to take him home.

He’d decided to avoid the road that paved his grief under cobblestones, with the towering apartments that in reality weren’t actually very tall at all, but all the same they gloomed overhead with such vigour that it drove Ludwig to find more welcoming paths.

This path was hardly welcoming, though it did its job of keeping Ludwig away from Gilbert’s window long enough to have the man make his decision without pestering him too much.

When Ludwig’s goose steps finally brought him to his apartment’s street, he couldn’t help himself break his stride to hurry inside the stair entrance to shy away from the snow.

He’ll wait one more day, he thought as he immersed his feet into his waiting slippers, before he’d push the topic again.

 

* * *

 

 

  Elizabeta and her children had visited on short notice, but to be honest it was no trouble, it never was.

“Roderich has decided not to come, but too bad of him, it’s always a delight being here, mind you.” Elizabeta said as she made her way up the stairs, the children already at the landing eagerly bouncing on the balls of their feet.

They led them into Gilbert’s flat, which was the cleaner one out of the two and was better stocked for company.

Elizabeta grappled to slip off her heavy coat and drape it over the banister at the landing outside before gliding into the apartment; she was so light on her feet that the men would mindlessly strain their ears just to hear the light taps of the soles of her shoes to the floor

“Honestly that man, I tell you! One minute he’s like butter and sugar the next he’s some sort of bush sporting thorns.” She burst out laughing as she held out her hands to hold the cup of coffee Gilbert offered.

The children were sat on the futon with Ivan as he read them some stories from one of the books he liked to keep inside the cupboards downstairs. The two boys, Larz and Thomas, were perched on either side of his thighs, while Ruth sat on her knees to slink over Ivan’s shoulder to have a better look at the illustrations in the pages. Ruth was so much like her father that it became a private joke Ivan, Elizabeta, and Gilbert shared.

“’Liz, I’ve got a bit of news for you I’m not sure you’ll like.” Gilbert said gravely, deciding it was better to share it with her now that she was here.

The woman put the cup down and tucked a stray hazel lock behind her ear, “I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”

Gilbert sucked in air.

“Well, I’m gay.”

The room grew quiet, save for Ivan and the children who were talking amongst themselves. But to Gilbert’s shock, Elizabeta snorted a laugh and picked the cup back up.

“So is my uncle, and that woman that’s been giving me discounts on my laundry. And to be honest with you, Gilbert? I’ve had that assumption for years.”

All Gilbert could do was gape as she continued.

“Come on, Gilbert, it’s 1985! Everyone’s coming out.” Elizabeta smiled, her features were so soft and creamy.

“Yeah,” he smiled, ashamed of the fear he had tucked away, “I’ve also met someone.”

“Is he handsome?” She teased, pink lips stretched and her teeth glimmered.

“I suppose,” he shrugged, “but that’s not it.”

“Then what?” Elizabeta asked.

“He’s told me he knows how to get me over the wall.”

“Wait, why would you need to do that?” She sets the cup down again.

 “Because he’s on the west side.” Gilbert said grimly.

She paused.  Her cheer had thawed to reveal a tired husk.

“Oh.”

“I’ve been speaking to him for months from my window, God I don’t even know how it happened really. I remember needing to look after the kids and I’d run out of batteries to the clock, I heard him walking by and I took that chance to just ask for the time. Then I asked for his name and he was just so rude but then I saw past that and I can’t see anything else really.” He eased his forehead onto the heels of his hands, fingers digging into his scalp.

Elizabeta cooed to him, petting his fingers that looped through tufts of hair.

“It’s very dangerous, you know that...”

He nodded.

“But you should go.”

Gilbert’s head inched away from his hands to look at the green jungles in her eyes, there was so much truth and life in them that he couldn’t help but murmur, “What?”

“You’d live much better there than here, and I want to see that for you.” She stroked the side of his cheek. “You’ve given so much, it’s time you were given something in return.”

They embraced, Gilbert clawed at the cotton on her back and Elizabeta cupped his head with fragile care. They hauled each other’s sent into their lungs, not daring to let go.

“I’ll miss you so much.” Gilbert said into her shoulder, brown hair lapping at his cheek.

She kissed the crown of his head and held him a while longer as he settled.

“You know I’m going to have to tell Roderich, right? He has as much right to know as any of us.”

“I suppose.”  
  
But the idea was obviously a terrible one.

 

* * *

 

 

During the morning that Ludwig had opted to visit Gilbert again, the snow had continued, leaving his coat’s shoulder pads to mountain with the snow that fell.

He received a call from the American at seven asking for a confirmation on the aid, Ludwig could only say that he needed the other to be sure on his choices of leaving before they’d continue, and to his relief the American pardoned him and hoped he had a nice day before his next call.

Everything was filtered through a white light as the snow echoed the brightness of the day, and Ludwig walked on with a cagey squint of his eyes.

He picked up a stray pebble that had chipped from the barricade and aimed to Gilbert’s window. Ludwig hoisted the little piece of concrete to the sealed glass; it emitted a small crack as it hit the glass before falling back into the snow at Ludwig’s feet.

Immediately it opened and out came Gilbert with a relieved smile.

“Gilbert.” Ludwig said airily.

“I was waiting.” He said, leaning further from the window ledge. “I wanted to tell you I’ve made my decision.”

As if his heart had shuddered between his lungs, Ludwig let out a rough, dry croak:

“And?”

“And I’ve never been too eager with dogs... but I’ll make an exception.”

White breath escaped as Ludwig let out the air he’d trapped in his mouth; his knees buckled under the weight of his relief and it took everything Ludwig had to keep himself standing to attention.

“So are you willing to jump?” he asked in caution.

“Yeah, as long as someone catches me, then by all means I’ll jump.” Gilbert laughed, and so did Ludwig.

 

* * *

 

 

Ludwig called the American after returning home, and he confirmed that Gilbert would jump by the end of the week.

 

* * *

 

 

The snow carpeted the road and blanketed the barricade with its sullied white sheen.

A quiet group of men in yellow garbs gathered with a rescue net in the shadow of the wall, and Gibert sat on the ledge with his right foot tucked behind his left ankle. There was a rucksack fastened to his back by two straps and he was talking to Ivan that was in the living room inside.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” he asked.

“Yes.”  

Gilbert nodded.

It was five in the morning; the sun was peaking behind the series of buildings on the east end of Berlin and not a person was in sight besides the faction of firemen, Ludwig who stood to the side, Ivan and Gilbert.

“Okay, you’ll need to do this quickly and quietly! It’s not a far jump, just propel away from the ledge and then we can get some breakfast.” Instructed a man in English, his gold hair glistened even under the shadow and his smile was earnest on his bespectacled face. Gilbert shifted forward.

“Yea—”

A series of tires shrieking under concrete drew Gilbert’s attention away from the window to his room; his stomach plummeted at the sound. German orders were being barked as the squelch of snow under leather boots was heard making its way from the street in front of the apartment right up to the wooden stairs leading to the flat.

Accusations were dropping like coins in the hollow of Gilbert’s mind; he grew panicked as every mere perception was shook out by reason, that is, of course, before one name was brought to allegation:

_Roderich._

Gilbert wasn’t even sure why he was surprised by this point. Instead he shot a look to Ivan and hissed with fear perturbing his actions. “Go!”  
  
Ivan nodded and made his way into another room, knowing the stairs were already filling with east border officers.

The door was kicked open and a flurry of men entered, bearing big frowns and bigger guns.

“You’ll be arrested for attempted leave of the GDR without permission,” Recited a stoic man at the head of the collection, who gripped his gun tightly in his gloved hands. “And—”

The wind was cold as Gilbert burst away from the window, his feet untwining and pushing on the peeling plaster below the stool on which he sat.  The tip of the barricade met him, not having jumped far enough, and it crushed the air out of his lungs. He scrambled over the wall as adrenaline drove him on, the net like a bed of flowers coveting Gilbert to fall into. A number of sharp pains were blossoming, but only when the explosion of guns rang and the unfamiliar feeling of skin shredding at his hip under the impact of a bullet that tore through the winter air did Gilbert grunt and hiss.

With a roll, Gilbert landed into the net, and his eyes marvelled at the sight of scarlet freckling the snow on the floor.

“Fuck!” cried one of the German guards in frustration.

“You assholes!” shouted the American, who was easing Gilbert out the net and onto his feet, “Not too bad I hope?” he asked with a grin.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Where’s Ludwig?” Gilbert asked dazedly.

His head twisted and turned, only being met by big men in uniform and dirty snow.

“I’m here.” He said fondly by Gilbert's side.

“Okay cool, can we get back to your place so I can go to sleep?”

“Wait, you’ve just been shot.” Ludwig frowned, and turned to the American to ask in English if it was serious.

Alfred, as Ludwig had said, raised Gilbert’s shirt with little anxiety.

“No, just a graze. It might need stitching but we can do that here, and after that you can just go, I know I want to, my balls are going blue in this snow.” He laughed, leading them to a box filled with first-aid equipment.

Gilbert hardly kept quiet as Alfred drew the needle and thread repeatedly to the torn skin, bringing the tattered edges under one seam. By the time Alfred was done, and a roll of bandage was wrapped around Gilbert’s waist did they thank the group, shake hands and exchange goodbyes. The firemen packed up and retreated out of the snow and into a pub, while Gilbert and Ludwig walked on together down the snow swathed road.

“Well fuck,” Gilbert said as they walked, “that sure was _dramatic_.”

“I think a better word is lucky.” Ludwig replied, reaching down to brush his fingers against Gilbert’s wrist.

Smiling, Gilbert grabbed the other’s gloved hand, keeping it with him by his side, “I’ve always been one for luck, you know.”

Ludwig’s lips quirked.

“I think I’m starting to.” 

 

 

 


End file.
